Baby Buddha sits on my dashboard in an infinite state of contemplation.
Don’t think that I don’t see him out of my peripheral vision as a single acceleration begins my long day’s journey into work.
Whether I drive five meandering miles per hour or a psychotic eighty makes no difference to the Buddha.
He is The Teacher, stable in serenity, unmoved in meditation.
Even when I am cut off in traffic and explosions of expletives detonate all over Mount Honda, the Baby Buddha sits safely encased in his protective zone of zen.
His integrity and grace annoy and unnerve me.
That is why I slam on the brakes for no good reason, sending the Baby Buddha flying out of his lotus position, sprawling out onto the floor.
I cannot help but smirk as I hear the irritated whisper of a tiny: “What the hell?!”